Still she sat there thinking with all the force of her young brain, partly remembering, partly anticipating.
Of her father she had scarce any knowledge. She was but four years old when he died, and her only brother was nearly fourteen. The eldest and youngest of Mrs. Liddell's children were the survivors of several.
Katherine's memory of her childish days presented the dim picture of a quaint foreign town; of blue skies, bright sunshine, and abundant vegetation; of large rooms and a smiling black-eyed attendant in a peculiar head-dress; of some one lying back in a large chair, near whom she must never make a noise. Then came a change; mother always in black, with a white cap, and often weeping, and of colder winters, snow and skating—a happy time, for she was always with mother both in lesson and play time, whilst Fred used to go away early to school. Next, clear and distinct, was the recollection of her first visit to London, and from this time she was the companion and confidante of her mother. They were poor—at least every outlay had to be carefully considered—but Katie never knew the want of money. Then came the excitement and preparation attending Fred's departure for India, the mixture of sorrow and satisfaction with which her mother parted from him, of how bitterly she had cried herself; for though somewhat tyrannical, Fred had been always kind and generous.
How well she remembered the day he had left them never to return—how her mother had clasped her to her heart and exclaimed: "You must be all in all to me now, Katie. I have done but little for you yet, dear, Fred needed so much."
A spell of happy, busy life in Germany followed, enlivened by long letters from the young Indian officer, whose career seemed full of promise. But when Katherine was a little more than thirteen sorrow fell upon them. Fred's letters had become irregular; then came a confession of weakness and debt, crowned by the supreme folly of marriage, concluding with a prayer for help.
Mrs. Liddell was cruelly disappointed. She had hoped and expected much from her boy. She believed he was doing so well! She told all to Katie, who heartily agreed with her that Fred must be helped. Some of their slender capital was sold out and sent to him, while mother and daughter cheerfully accepted the loss of many trifling indulgences, drawing the narrow limits of their expenditure closer still, content and free from debt, though as time went on Katherine cast many a longing glance at the world of social enjoyment in which their poverty forbade her to triumph.
Mrs. Liddell had always loved literature, and her husband had been an accomplished though a reckless and self-indulgent man. She had wandered a good deal with him, and had seen a great variety of people and places. It occurred to her to try her pen as a means of adding to her income, and after some failures she succeeded with one or two of the smaller weekly periodicals. This induced her to return to London, hoping to do better in that great centre of work. Here the tidings of her son's death overwhelmed her. Next came an imploring letter from the young widow, who had no near relatives, praying to be allowed to live with her and Katherine—sharing expenses—as the pension to which an officer's widow and orphans were entitled insured her a small provision.
So Mrs. Liddell again roused herself, and managed to furnish very scantily the little home where Katherine sat thinking. But the addition to their income was but meagre compared to the expenses which followed in the train of Mrs Frederic Liddell and her two "little Indian boys."
All the efforts of the practical mother and daughter did not suffice to keep within the limits they dreaded to overpass. Mrs. Liddell's pen became more than ever essential to the maintenance of the household, while the younger widow considered herself a martyr to the most sordid, the most unnecessary stinginess.
A tapping at the door and suppressed childish laughter called Katherine from her thoughts. She rose and opened the door quickly and softly.